A Bushel and a Peck
by wanderingselkie
Summary: Following the lives of Harley and our emotionally bipolar clown. Inspired by the song A bushel and a Peck The Andrews Sisters . Mature Audiences Only.
1. Chapter the First

**A/N: My other story is currently on hiatus, not because I have no ideas, but because I've not gotten two reviews yet. C'mon!**

**Well, here's my latest and (not) greatest. **

**Enjoy!**

He had been gone too long.

And she was worried about him! What if something happened! Her puddin, hurt?

It couldn't happen!

Then she wouldn't ever get him back, and that wouldn't work at all.

Just the thought.

His shoulders, his back, waist, ass, legs....

Harley was all revved up.

It wasn't her fault, really! It was the smell of his cologne, the way he looked when he was doing just about any activity, the way his glare promised later punishment....

It made her wet.

She tried to give him subtle hints (there seemed to be a ratio between how horny Harley was and how skimpy her red-and-black numbers got)

And they never worked.

She sometimes felt like he was ignoring her on purpose, so later he could punish her for annoying him, make her scream in pleasure that was almost pain - or pain that was almost pleasure, she could never really tell.

He had said he was going to be back in a couple of days....

How hard could it be, really, to take care of her needs herself?

_Harls, really? Are you that impatient, pooh? Incapable of waiting for me to come and take care of you? You really are a little slut...._

She couldn't do it.

Even though he was gone, gallivanting off on something or other, she couldn't betray him by taking care of herself.

He had been gone six days! Six days!

Surely she could just make herself feel a little better?

Her fingers were trailing down to slip into the waistband of her red jean shorts when she remembered.

He had told her not to.

Because that would make the scoreboard uneven.

And he would find out about it sometime anyway....

And there would be hell to pay if he did.

_"harley, girl, i know you can go a few days without me..." he had said, after throwing her to the floor._

_She had snuck up behind him and began rubbing his shoulders and chest, one finger circling his nipple through his shirt, and he had thrown her down. _

_"Pooh, I have to leave soon - and if I can't take the time to make it perfect what's the point?" _

_(meaning, really, he wasn't in the mood to cater to her and would much appriciate it if she held herself for him, because _obviously _he was the only one who could ever give her pleaseure)._

She nearly screamed in frustration.

And that was when the door slammed open.

The Joker stormed in, seething in madness.

"He got away! Again!"

And punched her in the jaw.

The force behind it lifted her physically into the air and then sent her spinning to the floor.

"Puddin'?"

"Come here, Harley."

His voice held no forgiveness.

She felt her pussy clench.

He was always his sexiest in these moods - when she knew he would stop at nothing and slam her around, slam into her until she cried out for him to stop.

And he would pound her harder.

Harley was lost in her little fantasy when a pale white hand cracked against the side of her face.

"Pay. Attention. To. Me."

She was terrified.

"Yessir!" She squeaked.

He slapped her in the face again, and she felt a bruise begin to bloom.

She wanted more. She wanted to run. She wanted _him_.

"Are you going to be a good harleykins and obey me?"

His voice was dripping fake sweetness, fake sweetness that promised the most painful of punishments if the command was not obeyed.

She nodded frantically.

His hand dropped to the fly of his pants and unzipped then, releasing himself from his purple boxers.

She crawled over to him on hands and knees, and took him into her mouth. He rolled his eyes, and then began to slam into her - almost choking her as he forced deeper into her throat by grabbing onto her hair.

Just as she though she was going to choke he pulled out of her.

"You have five seconds to get those stupid shorts off. One."

Harley fumbled with the button.

"Two."

The zipper was stuck. The zipper was stuck!

"Three..."

She tugged at it as hard as she could.

"Four..."

She forgot about the zipper and slid the red shorts and her bright purple under wear down her legs, just as he was saying, "Five."

_Not good enough._

"Not good enough, Harley. I thought you could do better than that. Go bend over the counter and wait for me."

Harley walked quickly to the kitchen and bent over the counter, spreading her legs. She didn't know what he was going to do to her, and that thought made her even hornier. She loved whatever he did to her, loved the soft sting of a paddle, the caress of a whip, the feeling of his hands bruising her hips and ass...

She felt a strike across her legs, like a line of fire.

He was whipping her.

And she hadn't even heard him come up behind her.

She heard another crack as the whip descended, and a second line of fire was lain beside the first.

"Please, Mr. J...." She heard herself beg..

"Please what, Harley?" He snapped. "Be more specific with your directives! How could anyone even begin to understand you."

"I--"

The whip cracked across her ass three more times in quick succession.

There was a long agonizing pause before she felt something tracing against her, spreading her wetness.

She shut her eyes.

And screamed, as all ten inches of the Joker slammed into her.

He reached foreward and grabbed her neck, pressing against her windpipe and vocal chords.

"You know, Harley, I'm so glad you're here! It's great stress relief when i get back from those stressful jobs...."

"Yes, boss..." She choked out.

He picked up the speed until he was slamming into her, bottoming out with every thrust.

She began to make what little moans she could around his hand, which was really more cutting off her sound than her air supply.

This was why she loved him, this man, who made her feel things that no other ever had.

He let go of her throat, favoring instead grabbing her hair, tugging her head back.

"Daddy - your cock feels so good...."

He growled, a primal sound, as he picked up the pace of their fuck.

She felt it building then.

She had missed her clown, really. And now that he was back, and he was here, fucking her, 'punishing' her, loving her in the only way he could.

He pushed himself as far into her as he could go and then grabbed her hips and thrust in farther still.

Harley exploded. Knowing that her idol, her love, her puddin' was causing this just sent her over the edge, and she clenched hard around him.

He slammed into her several more times and then she felt him come - and felt him pulse inside her.

The joker picked her up tenderly (an out of character act for him) and carried her to their bed, lay her down, and lay down behind her.

"I love you, Mr. J."

"Yes, Harley. Now shut up. I've had a stressful day and want to sleep."

As she was falling asleep, he began to hum.

_I love you, a bushel and a peck, a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck, a hug around the neck and a barrel and a heap, a barrel and a heap and I'm talkin' in my sleep, about you...._

**A/N: So, whaddaya think? Let me know? (aka, _review_, I KEEL YOU)**

**Yrael: **Still shameless, even in different universes.

**Ellie: ***Lifts whip*

**Yrael:** YIPE!


	2. Chapter the Second

**A/N: Sorry, this one's short. Next one's lots longer, though.**

She had coated herself in pie. Banana creme pie. And she was standing up slowly before him.

No doubt wearing the pie (and only the pie).

He was unexpectedly turned on by this.

The fact that she was wearing banana creme pie (which he knew she hated) just to please him turned him on.

She was such a good slave-girl, well, more like a servant, constantly doting on her master.

And then she began to sing, some stupid song to the tune of Happy Birthday.

"7 years to the day...."

SEVEN YEARS????

He had really been with her that long?

"Not now, Harley, I'm tired."

He could see her cute little face pout through all that pie.

But she obeyed (he knew she would) and stepped ut of the pie, presumably to go shower.

Seven years?

That was more time than he'd ever spent with any other girl.

He supposed she deserved something for staying with him this long.

It's not like he was an easy guy before becoming the Joker.

And now - well.

Back to his Harley.

His Harley?

When did he start thinking of her as his? Was it when she got the tattoo, the curling, scripted J on her inner thigh?

Or was it when he realized that no other woman could match him in humor, style, and attitude?

She was completely submissive towards him - anything he asked, no matter how strange, humiliating, or gruesome, she'd do.

He supposed that meant something.

And she had made all that pie...

He shook his head, took off his coat, and walked towards the bathroom, leaving a trail of purple and green clothes as he went.

He could hear her humming in the shower, the same song he frequently hummed to her - and himself. No doubt she had no idea what the words were (it was an old tune) , but it was nice to hear.

He stepped into the shower, sliding the curtain slowly to make as little noise as possible.

The Joker slid his pale hands around Harley's waist and she gasped- and was about to say something when he spun her around and pressed her against the slick wall, kissing her tenderly.

"Why, Mr. J?"

"Happy anniversary."

He didn't really know why he was showing such favor to her, she would get spoiled and make his life miserable with her incessant begging, "Please, Mr. J?"

But he wanted to, he really did. She couldn't know, of course, but he was touched that she remembered their seven years together. He didn't.

"You're a one-man-loon, huh, pooh?"

"Mr. J - can we? Please..."

Her voice was shaking.

"I'll let you finish your shower... I'll meet you in our boudoir."

He didn't know why he wanted to make this special for her. He should be punishing her for being too cling.

There was a strange fluttery feeling in his chest.

_I love you, a bushel and a peck._

Did he?

Could he say he (possibly? Unlikely?) loved Harley?

She was his, that's all. He was just feeling possessive.

Just possessiveness, as he lit candles.

_And a hug around the neck-_

Just ownership, as he bent her back, dancing with her in the candlelight.

_A barrel and a heap_

Just raw power, as he kissed her softly, slowly, bending her down on white silk sheets.

_I'm talking in my sleep_

Just wanting to posses her, as he slid into her, making her mewl and clutch his shoulders.

_About you..._

"Mr. J... I love you..."

"I love you too, Harley.

**A/N: REVIEW!**

**Yrael: **Whore.

**Ellie: **Shameless.


	3. Chapter the Third

**A/N: So, I apologize profusely for the shortness of these chapters. My writing comes in spurts, or rather, scenes. This one's kind of effed up. Enjoy!**

**Also! Thank you to my ONE reviewer! Hearts, hearts. **

Why had he said that?

He told her he loved her!

That was like giving her liscence to walk all over him.

He hoped she wouldn't use that.

He'd teach her a lesson.

Tomorrow.

The Joker woke to the feel of a hand stroking him through his pyjamas. He opened his eyes and flipped Harley onto her back, pinning her arms and legs.

"Did I _say_ you could do that, Harley?"

"No - but - Mr J, I thought..."

He punched her across the face.

After she recovered from the blow, she got up and started backing away from him.

"Puddin- what'd i do? I've been good!"

His leg snapped out and slammed into her gut.

She fell and he climbed on top of her and began punching, slapping, _hurting_ every inch of her that he could reach.

Her baby blue eyes filled with tears.

The Joker reached for his gun and pushed the barrel into her mouth. He began to thrust it, scraping the roof of her mouth, hitting and bruising her throat.

"Harley, harley, harley. You certainly enjoy my _gun_.... Was that your intention when you so rudely awoke me this morning?

Her lips were bleeding now.

He withdrew the gun and licked her lips, tasting her blood.

She flinched away from him and shook her head 'no'.

"Oh, pooh, you've had too much?"

He softly caressed her cheek, and when she leaned into him, he slapped her. Hard.

Tears were streaming down her face now.

Her already large eyes got even huger when he drew a switchblade from its holster and began to play with it.

She knew what was coming.

With a swift movement, he flipped her over and rubbed his thumb over the smooth flesh of her pale ass.

"Puddin'?"

Smiling, he lowered the knife to her skin, carving a straight line.

Harley screamed.

He finished the cut, and moved onto the next, delighted by the contrast between her milky skin and the scarlet blood.

**M**

Harley was crying in earnest now, completely terrified by what he was doing.

**I**

"Please!" She begged, until the words ran together.

"...."

**N**

She was squirming, and he delivered a hard slap to her ass before starting the next series of cuts.

**E**

There. Now she was marked. His, and his alone.

He picked up his gun and held it to her temple.

Cocked it.

He could hear her breathing speed up, hear the whimper in her throat.

And squeezed the trigger.

_BANG_

And with a puff of smoke, a flag burst out of the barrel of the gun.

He smiled and stood up, whistling that tune as he walked away.

**A/N: You know what I really love? REVIEWS!!!!! But I especially love reviews from people that read my other stories! I even more love reviews with constructive criticism and ideas!!!!!!!**

**Yrael: **Shameless. Completely and totally.

**Ellie: **Winniethapooh92? I know you're out there!

**Yrael: ***shakes head*


	4. Chapter the Fourth

**A/N: Another fucked up chapter. **

**Shake 'n' bake, that just happened!**

**R&R, please. **

**

* * *

  
**

He needed to possess her.

She was his - his alone.

Not a mutual lover, not an equal.

An inferior, a possession, a slave to his every whim,

And he had marked her as such.

Of course, he'd have to re-cut it often,- as soon as it became the light pink of a healing scar, he'd have to re-do all of his hard work, and he'd get to see her sweet blood.

Verily, he could just kill her, it'd make things so much easier, no more cutting, no more having to appease her, no more of her obnoxious new jersey accent --

It'd be nice.

But still.

He needed either to get rid of her or to fuck her, dominate her, hurt her, violate her.

She had gotten to him.

Somehow, she had gotten past his walls, past his exterior - he had been out of character in telling her - what he had never intended to reveal to anyone.

Least of all her.

She was HIS.

That goddamn song was playing in his head.

He needed something to drive it out - pound it out--

And the bat was tracking him.

He couldn't leave.

Or kill Harley.

A dead harley would just draw attention.

Damn.

He needed to do SOMETHING.

"Harley!"

He heard a muffled squeak, then the soft padding of her feet, slowing as she approached the door.

"yes, Mistah J?"

"Come here, Harley." He said, with a steel voice.

She walked over to him, looked at him with her big baby blue eyes.

"Harley."

She whimpered.

He pulled her to him, kissed her hard, biting her lip, pulling her hair.

He tasted blood.

And smiled.

The Joker violently ripped off Harley's dress (well, one of his shirts) sending buttons scattering.

"On your knees."

He didn't give her a chance to be gentle - he slammed into her mouth, gagging her, dominating her.

He withdrew from her mouth and directed her to sit on the bed.

He spread her legs and pressed them over her head, taking advantage of her loose, flexible hamstrings.

The Joker slammed into her, showing no mercy. He bottomed out and groaned as he felt her clench around him and shriek in pain.

"Please--"

"Quiet, slut."

There was nothing she could do but lat there and take it - taking all of him.

He could tell she was trying so hard to stay quiet, her lips were bleeding again.

He picked up his pace and the force of his thrusts, making her eyes tear in pain.

"Good girl, Harley."

"Thank you, daddy..."

"Did I say you could TALK?!"

She shook her head 'no'.

And he smiled.

She was his, alright. And he knew that, no matter what, she'd always come back.

A loyal girl.

"Harley, baby, you're such a loyal little slut..."

He could tell that she was going to break, so he gave her more, all he had. He wanted her to break, to cry, scream - he needed an excuse to hit her, slap her, beat her.

The joker started slamming harder - _hurting_ her, until she couldn't take it anymore.

And screamed.

He slapped her across the face.

"I can't... Please..."

This was what he wanted - total submission, willingness.

He could feel her body relax underneath him, and he knew that no matter what he did now, she would take it, gladly.

He pulled out of her.

"You're not worthy of this inside you." he said, spilling himself on the bed.

Harley was almost crying.

He had succeeded at what he set out to do.

Teaching her that

He was her MASTER.

And Harley began to sniffle.

Possibly the most annoying sound known to man, the whimpering of an injured henchgirl.

"Go clean up, whore. No one likes you all messy."

Harley pulled herself up and walked out.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, such a mess..."

The Joker shook his head.

And as he began to strip the bedsheets, he hummed:

_I love you, a bushel and a peck, a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck, a hug around the neck and a barrel and a heap, a barrel and a heap and i'm talkin in my sleep, about you._

_

* * *

_

**A/N: hope you enjoyed, even if it is a little squicky. **

**R&R, loves.**


	5. Chapter the Fifth

A/N: The fluff is short-lived. Major squick alert.

* * *

Harley was deeply, hopelessly in love.

He was her everything, and his rejection hurt.

She wanted to make him feel better.

Harley got out of the shower and re-applied her grease-paint, pulled her hair into ragged pigtails and practiced a cheery smile.

Even to her, it looked fake.

She was going to be perfect. She was going to be a good girl, and she was going to make him happy again.

She walked to the kitchen and thought of what she could to.

Rifling through the cupboards, she found eggs, cream, and some old bisquick.

Probably still good.

Harley started to make pancakes, threw in some chocolate chips she found under the fridge as an after-thought, and began to hum to herself as she whipped cream.

Soon, the smell had permeated the hideout.

The Joker poked his head around the kitchen door.

"Harl?"

"Yes, Mistah J?"

"Are those pancakes ready?"

"Comin' right up, boss!!"

She flipped two of the pancakes onto a (mostly) clean plate and gave them whipped cream eyes, a strawberry nose, and a banana smile.

She set them down in front of him, and backed off quick.

"Harl, how delightful! You're such a good little housewife."

Harley basked in his praise. Her puddin' loved her again.

"Well? Go make yourself useful!"

"Yes, Mistah J."

As she flounced off, she couldn't help but wonder when he would swing the other way. As it turned out, it wasn't that far off.

Him and the goons had gone out to pull another stupid heist, something to do with chattery teeth (which she was terrified of, so she made an excuse to stay home) and when he came back, he was ifurious/i.

He walked into the room and stormed past her, not noticing her except to send a bone-chilling glare in her direction.

She timidly followed a few seconds after he had passed.

A door slammed somewhere in the house.

No doubt his study. And she wasn't allowed in there.

Harley had to stay awake while he was in there. If he came out and found her sleeping while he was in a bad mood, it would be bad news. Really, really bad news.

hr

She stifled a yawn.

It had been six hours.

Six whole hours. It was nearing two in the morning. Every once in a while she heard him scream and throw something, kick a chair, if she was listening hard enough, she could hear him crumpling and ripping paper. She was sitting directly outside his door. Waiting for him, because she knew that when he came out he'd need her to be there.

She did know he had two sides. Sometimes when he slapped her she knew it was just play. Other times, she knew he could kill her if she so much as moved the wrong way while he was near his gun.

He never did, though. She trusted him.

Her puddin...

"HARLEY!!!!!!!!!"

Oh shit. Oh, shit. She had fallen asleep. Sitting outside his door, with her knees drawn up to her chest, she had fallen asleep.

"Yes boss?"

"Stand up NOW."

She stood quickly, ignoring the head rush and the blackness at the edges of her vision.

"Come."

He turned and walked away, and she followed. She knew where they were going. The old, abandoned carnival room. It had sawhorses, and power tools, and rope. She was in trouble. She was going to get it for sure.

She was right. He walked into the hall and she trailed behind him nervously, but promptly. He could kill. And she already had a strike against her. She did NOT want this to be her last day. Although, death by his hands would be an honor... Especially if it was his hands that did the killing... To die with his hands wrapped around her throat - bliss.

He whirled suddenly.

She stopped short and almost bumped into him.

"You know what you did."

She gulped, nodded.

"Bend over that bench."

She did as she was told.

She felt the cold blade of a knife sliding under the edge of her shorts, ripping the cloth, ripping the waistband until they slid off and her lacy black thong was exposed to the air. He cut that too.

"Don't move. Don't cry. Don't talk."

She didn't even nod.

"Good girl..."

He smoothed his hand over her face and she leaned into his caress. And he slapped her.

"Do. Not. Move."

She trembled and held as still as she could, her breath coming in pants.

She heard the crack of sound that preceeded a whip. He had been favoring the whip lately. Probably because it did the most damage. And somehow, she knew that this could be the death of her. So she held still.

Crack.

Pain.

Crack.

Pain.

Crack.

She lost count. She only noticed with the blood began to slide down her sides, her legs, to puddle on the floor. She noticed his intake of air as the first welt opened. She knew he liked to make her bleed. She noticed when his strikes got harder, more punishing, faster. She noticed the blackness returning to the edge of her vision.

She must have had 50 lashes now.

And he wasn't stopping.

She couldn't move. She wouldn't.

She felt dizzy. Sick.

She didn't move.

Tunnel vision had returned. Her field of view narrowed to a line directly in front of her.

Each strike had turned from being fire on her back to being needles to just numbness. She didn't feel it at all. A quick glance at her fingers showed that they were ghostly white. A glance at the floor revealed it slick with blood. Her blood.

He kept going.

She didn't know what his ends were, but apparently these were the means to justify it.

He stopped.

He stopped?

She shivered, uncontrollably.

She didn't know what was next.

Her back, ass, thighs, were a bloody mess. She felt like he had flayed the skin practically off her.

She didn't move. She didn't talk. Didn't think.

A long-fingered hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing, and she welcomed the blackness it brought.

* * *

A/N: Woah. That was a little squicky, even for me. Don't hurt me.


	6. Chapter the Sixth

A/N: So, I'm not even sure I like this chapter. However, I am a little pissed off at Harley's damn undying devotion. Stuff'll happen. I'm just not quite sure what yet. Consider this a 'filler chapter" (mostly so y'all know she's alive.)

* * *

There was a touch of a cool hand on her cheek. A sweet , familiar smell wafted over her.

"Red?" She croaked.

"Ssh, Harl. Don't talk if you can't. Drink this."

She felt a glass pressed against her lips and swallowed, sputtering at the cold burning shock on her bruised throat and windpipe.

"Red -- What? What happened?"

"I got you out of there, Harl. He won't hurt you anymore."

"No - how did you get me? Why am I here?"

"Remember, Harl? You asked me to come over and give you those vitamin booster shots... I waited for almost an hour - you were supposed to meet me outside of Joker's hideout. I was worried when you didn't come.. I got in. You were bleeding, uncouncious, draped over a benc. I thought you were dead - what the hell happened, Harley? Your back looked like raw meat..."

"He was -- upset. I fell asleep waiting for him. I deserved it."

"Harley, NO. Just-- hold still. I'll help you up."

Harley felt vines wrap around her torso, lifting her vertically, keeping her back still.

She opened her eyes.

Ivy looked worried. And angry.

And beautiful, sensual, plantlike, as always.

"My serums helped fix you up - your back still looks like shit, though. It'll probably scar."

Ivy's green eyes flickered to Harley's neck.

"Pammy, what?"

"He was serious, Harley. You were so close..."

"But he didn't, Red! He loves me, I know he does..."

Ivy grabbed a slightly rusted mirror that was leaning against the wall and angled it towards Harley.

Harley gasped.

She had a line of bruises across her neck. She could see the impressions of Joker's fingers.

Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. There was a long scab curving around her hip from her back.

"Red?" Harley asked in a trembling voice.

"Yeah, Harl?"

"How close is close?"

"If I hadn't -- come... You'd be dead on that little sawhorse."

Ivy's green eyes were watery. She engulfed Harley's small, trembling body in her arms.

Harley didn't even know how to react.

She thought it'd be nice to die by his hands, to succumb to a sweet agony caused by him.

It wasn't.

Knowing that someone she loved so much, someone she was so devoted to, was willing - no, happy, to eliminate her-

It hurt. It hurt bad.

"Pammy?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm confused..."

"Oh, baby..."

Ivy sat down on the bed and the vines carried Harley over and deposited her sitting between Ivy's spread thighs.

Ivy wrapped her smooth green arms around Harley.

"You shouldn't feel like this. Why do you put up with him, baby?"

"Red - I- I- I love him. He's my everything -- He makes me feel so good, Red..."

"i could make you feel good too, Harl..."

And Ivy kissed her. Slowly. Not demanding, but coaxing, entreating.

It was the opposite of Mista J's brutal assault on her mouth.

Harley broke the kiss. Harley had the option to break the kiss, and Ivy let her go.

Her body tingled. Her back throbbed and her spine shivered. It was so -- gentle.

"Come here, Harley."

Ivy leaned back and gathered Harley into her arms.

They slept, entwined.

* * *

A/N: Hmm.

I liked it the first time I wrote it but the more I read it the less I like it. I know! The story is developing a plot. Crap.

Yrael: Beautiful. More time for you to not spend with me.

Ellie: Shut. Up.


	7. Chapter the Seventh

**A/N:** The structure of this chapter is sort of strange. Think of it as snapshots. Little video clips. Sketches. Whatever works. Also, Mr. J. gets very... Human. But honestly, what else is there to do in that situation? So I suppose, OOC warning.

* * *

Harley woke the next morning and stretched.

And screamed as the giant scab on her back cracked in what felt like a million places.

Ivy sat bolt upright.

"What?"

"It's okay- I just stretched. It hurt."

Ivy sighed.

"Okay. Harl - you can't do anything right now without hurting yourself. Go back to sleep."

Harley gladly obliged.

* * *

The Joker was confused.

Harley was missing.

Strange.

Normally when he taught her a lesson she showed up eager and early the next morning, perfectly willing to do whatever the hell he wanted.

And he was honestly looking foreword to pancakes. Or something to eat.

Good god, did the kid ever go shopping?

Speaking of, where was she? He hadn't seen her anywhere.

The night before, she had provided some excellent stress relief. Of course, it got boring after she passed out --

Oh.

She had probably run off somewhere. She'd come back, whining, "Puddin, you scared me... "

Pishaw.

He was just having a little fun, is all.

And honestly, she was a sight to see. All stretched out and trembly, trying so hard to obey, to be good.

He had never really seen the appeal in being 'good'. He supposed it had something to do with the fact that it just wasn't much fun.

He had no idea how to get a hold of her, but it was for the better. He'd have some peace and quiet to work on his projects and miscellany. Maybe it was better with her gone...

* * *

When Harley awoke again she was alone. There was a note on Ivy's pillowcase.

_Harley, baby, had to run an errand. Back late tonight._

She was completely alone.

And it hit, and it hit so hard.

Her puddin' had almost killed her. He had gotten so out of control that he's almost strangled her, almost flogged her.

It was like a knife ripped through her, from gut to head. She got queasy, her head split open and she started bawling. She rolled onto her knees and puked into Ivy's wastebasket.

She hurt so bad. She wrapped her arms around her sides and started to rock slowly, back and forth, her tears splashing onto her bare knees.

He had almost killed her.

She realized the danger of her life. The fact that she was another living being would never be enough of a safety net for her. If she angered him, she was dead. And she almost had.

It was downright terrifying.

She didn't know how long she sat there, rocking and bawling and thinking, but at a certain point she remembered tipping over onto her side and laying there, helpless, until she felt Ivy's warm body curve around her own, hands stroking her hair and sweet words being whispered into her ears.

* * *

Time passed for both sides.

Harley healed. Sort of.

Her back was mostly fine. There were several long, inch-wide raised scars down her back. She was emotionally distant. Emotionally blank, more like.

Joker just got angrier and angrier. He had learned to live without her but somewhere (not that he would admit it to anyone) he was seriously concerned. She never left him for this long, not without some cheesy hint as to where she was. He wouldn't allow himself to feel remorseful. He just called it angry. Maybe concerned. But not remorseful.

Ivy was good to Harley. Despite the fact that Harley had a notoriously black thumb, she helped Ivy with the vines and leaves and shrubs and whatnot.

She didn't think about _him. _Every once in a while something would happen, Ivy would slip and say something about him, or Harley would see a newspaper about Joker's angry rampages, and she'd just break.

An instance:

"Harley? Can you go grab me that ceramic pot over there?"

"Sure, Red!"

Harley went and grabbed the pot off of Ivy's shopping pile. It was sitting on top of a newspaper, the front page of which was emblazoned with Joker's smiling face.

Time froze.

The ceramic pot shattered on the floor.

Harley collapsed, breathing fast, trembling, panicking.

She couldn't handle that face. That beautiful, terribly, angelic face that promised so much... The face she was so devoted to...

Seeing him hurt.

* * *

Joker was bored. He was bored with pulling successful heists, he was bored with almost beating the bat (for once). Something was missing.

The house was filthy, the bathroom no longer smelled like strawberry bubble gum, his bed was (for some reason) always cold. The fridge was empty, his clothes hadn't been washed, and the hyenas were positively ravenous.

Something had gone terribly wrong in the last month.

What was it?

Strawberry bubblegum, warmth, clean, likes hyenas...

Harley.

She was still gone.

Damn that girl. Now he'd have to take time off of his perfectly successful life to go find her, because she made up for the inconvenience she caused with how convenient she was to have around. She was useful. He didn't feel anything for her, she was just useful to have around. That was all.

Now, as to the great mystery of where she could be...

Poison Ivy.

Joker got into his (purple, stolen) convertible (which was low on gas, wasn't someone supposed to take care of that?) and drove out to Ivy's hideout.

He didn't knock, he knew it'd be open, and strode in. No one appeared to be home, so he poked around a bit. Human curiousity, and all that.

There was a room off to the side with a partially closed door, which he nudged open with his foot, and sidled into.

Harley was asleep on the bed.

Her blonde curls (now with about an inch of dark brown roots) were strewn across the pillowcase, and she was sleeping curled into a tight little ball.

She never used to sleep like that.

She'd be curled all over him.

"No -"

she moaned.

Joker started. Harley sleep-talked?

"Please- Mistah J - Don't ... I'll be good... I promise... "

Harley sleep-talked about him? Most definitely new.

"Don't hurt me again -- please Mistah J - i love you- don't..."

Joker's heart skipped a couple beats.

What?

He walked over to the bed and shook her shoulder.

She opened her eyes and started, gave a little shriek, and scooted away into the corner, pulling up the blanket.

He could see the fear in her eyes.

Normally it would have aroused him, but this wasn't playtime. She was serious, even a clown like him could tell.

"Harl?"

"No - You're not here, you're not real, go away, go away, go away..."

The Joker was at a loss for words.

He tried a different angle (gentleness really wasn't his thing).

"Harley, get up. You're being silly."

She stood up on auto-pilot and the blanket fell, revealing her nakedness.

She was skinny. Really, really skinny.

People assumed that he wasn't a carnal being, just because he was a 'psychopath'.

He wasn't crazy*, he was human, and he had the same desires as any other red-blooded male.

One of these desires was to see his girl healthy. She was emaciated. She wasn't healthy. At all.

"Come here, Harley."

His voice didn't show if he would hit her or hold her.

She approached slowly, timidly, and he could see the tears streaming down her face, the rapid fluttering of her breath, the tremors running down her spine.

She stopped a good foot away from him.

They were at an impasse.

He couldn't reach out and hold her. It was against his nature. Besides, it was her fault for running.

She was trembling all over now. Shaking visibly, her eyes a veritable waterfall.

"You have a gun." She said in a small voice. "Finish what you started." And she squared her shouders, opening her chest.

If he hadn't had better contol of himself, the Joker's jaw would have hit the floor.

"What did you just say?"

She cried harder but stood taller, stronger.

"Kill me. Finish your plan, or whatever this is."

"Harley..."

She looked at him with incredibly sad, wounded eyes.

And he lost it. He didn't care what people would think of the clown prince of gotham.

He stepped foreward and wrapped his arms around Harley, his Harley, who fit so perfectly under his chin.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head and breathed in the scent of her strawberry shampoo.

He ran his hand down her back and felt every individual ridge of her spine, and some unidentified ridges.

The Joker turned Harley around and saw the striped scars.

He couldn't handle this.

The Joker was having a rare moment of natrual, vulnerable humanity.

"Harley," he whispered in her ear, "Come home with Daddy..."

She could barely move, his voice sent tingles down her spine, but she acknowledged him.

"Okay."

* * *

A/N: Weird, yeh?

* The Joker (in my opinion) isn't crazy. He just has different tastes.


	8. Chapter the Eighth

**A/N:** Sorry, it's short. Just churning out some plot.

* * *

Harley knew Ivy would know what had happened. She knew Harley couldn't stay away from Joker, they were one of those couples that always came back to each other.

He left first, Harley trailing a good five steps behind him, her eyes down, her shoulders hunched, nude except for Ivy's blanket.

He got into the front seat of the car.

She climbed into the back passenger corner, as far away from him as she could be in the car.

They rode in silence.

No chatter, no polite small talk, the radio was even broken.

Joker was unnerved.

They finally arrived home, and left the car in the same fashion. Joker first, followed by a timid Harley.

He continued to walk in front of her, leading her like she'd never been there.

They were in their bedroom, now, and Harley was nervous. She didn't know if she really wanted to be there, in an enclosed space, with him.

She was frightened.

"Harley, baby, what's wrong?"

"I'm scared." She whispered.

"Of little old me?" he shook his head. "No need to be, Harley. It's okay."

She looked at him blankly.

"Please…" She said softly.

He thought he knew what she meant. She was scared and needed him to reassure her. He was crazy, not stupid.

"Baby, come here."

She walked slowly to him and he enfolded her in his arms, rocking her back and forth slowly.

He lifted her behind her knee (she weighed next to nothing) and dropped her down on the bed.

"Now, Harley, you still want to make me happy, don't you?"

She nodded weakly.

He unfolded the blanket from her and stripped off his clothes, overcome once again by that extremely disconcerting feeling of being human. He _wanted _to take care of her. And that was a new feeling for him. He wasn't sure he liked it.

He knelt over her, running his pale hands over her small breasts, her ribs, tickling gently at her waist, causing the ghost of a smile to cross her lips.

He skimmed his fingers over her pussy lightly, and she squirmed.

"Been a while, Pooh?"

She nodded, her breath already fluttering in quick gasps.

As much as he wanted to prolong the foreplay he had been without her as much as she had been without him. This whole lust thing was quite obnoxious. He constantly felt like he needed to be inside her. It was truly one of the most annoying things he had ever felt.

He slid into her slowly, savoring the heat, the warmth.

They melded together - two humans succumbing to the animalistic urges that all humans have.

It didn't last long, it didn't need to. It was enough for him to get out his lust and enough to reassure her. They were off to a rocky beginning.

He lay behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist.

She snuggled back into him, and felt as well as heard his humming.

_I love you, a bushel and a peck, a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck. A hug around the neck and a barrel and a heap, a barrel and a heap and I'm talking in my sleep, about you.

* * *

_

**A/N:** More soon, I promise.


	9. Chapter the Last

**A/N: This is going to be the last chapter. My inspiration has left. So, this is the end.**

* * *

It was morning. It was always morning when they talked about more serious things. Always in their bed, with sleep in their eyes.

Harley didn't know why that particular atmosphere was so easy to talk in, when she was resting her head on his milk-white chest and they were bathed in a lazy morning.

He was taking care of her better. And she liked it. It felt normal, and safe. He was giving her freedoms that he had never given before.

She tilted her head to kiss his sternum, and he gently tugged on her hair in response.

His hands found her bare hips (they slept naked these days) and pulled her on top of him. She circled her hips around his morning wood, not quite taking him inside her. He tilted his hips and pulled her down, the unexpected thickness of his cock making her gasp. She rode him slowly, teasingly, until he growled and began pounding into her in earnest, filling her completely.

Her hands found his shoulders and she dug her nails in, forming little red half-moons in his skin. Her hair was beginning to curl from the sweat, and he wasn't stopping. Harley was once again coming undone by the Joker's hand.

She buried her face in his neck, his thrusts finding her g-spot, making her scream as he drove her closer to her peak. He twined one of his hands into her hair and pulled- not hard enough to cause pain, but enough to heighten the pleasure. Her eyes closed in hard-won pleasure as the waves of her orgasm crashed over her, mere moments before Joker's cock pulsed inside her and he sent his come deep into her womb.

These were the times celebrated by slow mornings.

He stroked her hair softly, gently, and pressed a kiss to her brow before extricating himself from their bed and leaving, presumably to go complete a job.

Harley had been staying home more and more often, resulting in a cleaner house, more groceries, and better fed henchmen and hyenas. Today, however, she went back to sleep with a strange sinking feeling in her stomach.

It wasn't until later, when she turned on the television, when she realized the true power of a women's intuition.

She was making dinner, expecting Mr. J home any minute, the television merely background noise.

"…and in an unexpected turn of events, the clown prince of crime in Gotham is for once not going to Arkham after being captured - more after the break."

The milk jug Harley was holding slipped out of her hand and smashed on the floor.

She had never watched commercials so intently, waiting for the story to come on.

Maybe it would have been better for him to just have not gone home. Or for her to have found out a different way.

Firefighters were digging through a pile of rubble, uncovering a broken body clothed in a blood-splattered purple suit. Harley's ears were ringing.

The ambulances pulled up and EMT's walked up to her puddin', checking his vitals and then slowly covering his pale body with a yellow plastic sheet.

Harley's mind exploded. She couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't breathe. She simply crumpled into a messy red and black heap, her hands threaded through her hair, rocking back and forth.

Some would say it was finally over for her, that she could get back to a normal happy life.

Harley knew she would never laugh again.

And as she lay there, rocking back and forth, the only thing she could hear was an old song...

_I love you, a bushel and a peck, a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck. A hug around the neck and a barrel and a heap, a barrel and a heap and I'm talking in my sleep, about you.

* * *

_

**A/N: So... That's it. Thanks, all. **


End file.
